London is so very pretty in the summer. A long absence does much to re-inspire an appreciation for the cultural wealth of this city - the libraries, the galleries, the opportunities for study and learning, the people gathered here from every corner of the earth.
Lazy lurches from one extreme to another, as is his wont. After a thousand broken vows, he returns once again to the caravan of seekers and lovers of knowledge. After the years lost to heroin, and then a year-long drunken bender across four countries and two continents, he runs, he hammers the punch bag until he collapses, he does sit-ups and push-ups and yoga stretches, he seeks a squash partner and a sparring partner and joins a boxing gym; he reads widely, he applies himself fanatically to his passion, the study of languages.
We have re-instituted VFEC, the "Valid Fucking Experiment in Consciousness" of our driven and Nietzschean years (there is even a VFEC blog, although most entries have been redacted. The first post may be useful as background and as a statement of intent).
Lazy takes up chi kung and meditation and pranayama once again. He borrows and reads Paulette's books on Taoist sexual alchemy and maintains himself in a state of heightened sexual excitement without allowing himself to come, attempting to channel the ching into strengthening the chi and shen and forcing his consciousness wider open. He reads Radigan's Solipsist novel The Steppe and contemplates the nature of external reality and knowledge. He resolves to conduct many experiments on himself, the only subject you may ethically experiment on; and on others. He cultivates a sacred detachment, the paradoxical state of non-attachment / non-disinterest.
And it is so effortless. If you must force yourself into any type of "self-improvement", so-called, you are harming yourself, as you do not really want it, or perhaps you want it too much.
"Act without doing; work without effort. The way is not difficult, only there must be no wanting or not wanting."
